Hell Freezes Over
... or with a more positive spin, perhaps there is a god after all.
Yes, Baila El Chiki Chiki is in the Eurovision Song Contest finals. Señor Gato Gringo and I can hardly contain our excitement. Needless to say, when Saturday evening rolls around, you know where we'll be: glued to our seats watching Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in Gib in front of our television set.
We are smugly confident that Rodolfo's chances of winning are excellent. How can you not love any song with lyrics:
"my mulatta dances it (El Chiki Chiki) with her panties in her hand..."
After all, if Abba can win why not him?
¡Perrea! ¡Perrea!
4 comments:
It took days and days to get that tune out of my mind back in April and now there it is again.
I think it is one step above water torture.
¡Perrea! ¡Perrea!
Cracking stuff!
I'm so sick of the chikilicuatre, ugh. To add insult to injury, my husband won't stop inventing words with "chikili" in it cause he thinks it's funny. So "Jose" becomes "Chikilijose", "Ramon" becomes "Chikilimon". Today we ate at the "Mexicanicuatre" or Mexican restaurant. Kill me. It's. Not. Funny.
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